Sins of Piratehood
by passion-willowflower-69
Summary: John discovers that once he becomes a pirate, there is no going back.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

The battle between the Lost Boys and Captain Hook's pirates raged on into the orange air of evening. Captain Hook had kidnapped the Darlings and the Lost Boys. John and Michael were huddled up high in the crow's nest, John protectively holding Michael on his hip. "Don't worry" John mutters, "we'll get home to see mother soon, everything is going to be okay." Michael smiled, his teeth were rather pointy for someone so young, John noticed. Below them, the clash of metal and grunts of hairy men serenaded the high seas. Peter was perched precariously on the mast dagger clutched in his fist fighting Captain Hook. A pirate, sword clenched between yellowed teeth, started to climb up to the crow's nest where John and Michael were hiding. Defenseless, John tried to hide himself and his younger brother when the pirate clambered over the edge like a crab over a coral reef. His giant paw-like hands clutched Michael and held him aloft, and with a deep booming laugh threw him overboard! John stared horrified into the wide, terrified eyes of his baby brother. John reached for Michael's small tiny hand and narrowly missed only grabbing his fingertips. He watched horrified as his little brother fell, until all he could hear was a splash.

Suddenly a small green shoe flew through the air and struck the pirate in his one good eye, sending him toppling over the crow's nest and onto the hard planks of the deck far below. As John searched for the source of the shoe, he saw Peter Pan shoeless fighting Captain Hook. A wave of gratitude swelled in his breast as John raced down the rope ladder to rescue his little brother from the cold ocean water.

As soon as John reached the deck, he leapt into the cold embrace of the ocean. He saw Michael floating several yards away—Michael was still okay! He swam in hard, fast, messy strokes to Michael. But why wasn't _he_ swimming? It was then that John noticed the blood turning the clear waters a dirty red.

Coral. Michael hadn't landed in the safety of the open water after all. A cruel coral reef intercepted the baby boy. John, after what seemed like an eternity of swimming, reached Michael. John extracted his brother gently from the reef, sharp bits of coral gouging their flesh in the process. John tenderly gathered Michael into his weak, bleeding arms. Michael blinked and looked into his sibling's watering eyes. He gave John a sad smile. "Don't cry. At least now I don't have to grow up."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

The Storm Rages on

John stared into the blank, dead eyes of Michael's teddy bear, remembering that moment from so long ago when he'd lost his baby brother. Guilt swamped him as he recalled that awful day. "John?" Wendy called briskly from the hall.

Wendy strolled confidently into the abandoned nursery. "Whatever are you doing in here?" The young woman asked in confusion. She stopped abruptly when she saw the toy in John's hands. John struggled to speak around the lump in his throat. "Just thinking." He muttered.

Wendy frowned. "About Michael?" The piercing loss of a little five year old boy up clouded John's mind like a fistful of dirt cast into a clear pond. "It doesn't do for a young man to dwell on such a tragedy. In any case, we must get a move on. The Haversham's have invited us to dine with them in their abode." John looked down, remembering a time when his sister was more carefree and joyful. He smiled to himself, "Yeah, kay."

The Darling family gathered up their bicycles and made their way to the Haversham's home for dinner. During their commute, John couldn't help but think of Michael once more. As he tried to concentrate on the light conversation, the mesmerizing flap of his mother's skirt in the wind as she rode her bicycle reminded him of sails billowing in the sea air. Pirate sails.

_Michael's body had been buried in the grove in Neverland, nearly every citizen of Neverland in attendance. The mermaids, bubbly smiles dimmed, watched from the beach. Tiger Lily crouched nearby singing a song of grief. Her people were bowed behind her, all holding candles, ignoring the wax dripping over their hands. The lost boy had solemnly wept from behind the trees. The crocodile led the procession from the shore, Michael on his back. The dim light of fireflies flickered in the shadows across the glen. Peter Pan hid himself in his den. His mind, where once swam happy thoughts, was clouded over by dark musings. Michael's teddy bear lay on the floor next to him. He lunged up from his seat, suddenly, and threw the once beloved toy out of the den. _

_ John followed the precession, his head hung low solemnly. As he was walking he happened upon the discarded teddy bear. He picked it up, hugged it to his chest, and looked around to see where it came from. His eyes landed on where Pan was residing. He stormed into the small den, threw back the bear skin curtain, and stared angrily into the large elflike eyes of Peter Pan. _

_John cuddled the bear close to his chest, and struggled to regain his composure. "You couldn't make it to the—" he cleared his throat "Funeral?" Peter blinked sullenly. John punched Peter in the chest, putting his full weight behind the blow. Peter grunted full-throatedly. John stood still, panting slightly, still holding his brother's bear. Peter muttered "What's your problem?" John punched again, this time aiming for Peter's stubborn face. Peter nimbly sidestepped the blow and repeated his question. John blurted out; "No. What is your problem? I needed my friend. I understand you hurt, but I hurt more. He was MY brother. You are a selfish brat." Peter flinched as though he had been struck again. "I . . . I . . . I'm not a brat." Peter said in a small voice. John cornered him; "Explain, Pan" he sneered, spittle flying. Peter started to cry. "It scares me." He whimpered. "I thought that death couldn't find me here." John stared blankly at the crying nymph. Peter continued; "We don't die here. I don't die and no one I love dies and we all live forever so we can play." John started to cry as well. He quietly stated "It doesn't work that way. Not even here. Everyone dies. And even when you hurt, you need to suck it up." The two grieving boys embraced, tears staining each other's shoulder. Michael's bear, still tightly clenched in John's hands, gently rested on Peter's back. Neither spoke; the sweet-smelling moonlit silence comforted the exhausted boys more than words. _

John was awoken from his reverie by a cold splash of mud upon his bespectacled face. He'd run through a puddle. They arrived at the Haversham's manor, and parked their bicycles. Mr. Darling appraised the family's appearances brusquely. His gaze alighted on John's dirty, wet face. Mud stained John's formerly crisp white shirt. Splotches of boiling scarlet spilled across George Darling's pudgy face with alarming speed. "What in blazes happened to you, boy?" John grunted, "Puddle in the road." His father blustered on, "This is a nice dinner with nice people, why do you persist in making a spectacle of yourself? If this dinner goes awry, you'll regret it for the rest of your life, my boy." John stared at the ground in silence and nodded in agreement.

They proceeded into the house, single file. A quiet maid greeted them and showed them into the cavernous dining room. The distinguished family of three stood stiffly in a row, faces fixed in appropriate expressions of welcome. Mr. Haversham smoked his pipe at the head of the table his voluminous mutton chops twitching in dignified agitation. Mrs. Haversham, a lanky gaunt woman stood next to her husband, viewing her guests with majestic nonchalance. Their son, Beauregard Haversham stood erect by the door, his plush skin glowing with health.

Wendy glanced at Beauregard with abrupt hunger, then quickly looked away. Beauregard was widely regarded as the stuffiest young man in the city of London. John couldn't understand why Wendy took such an interest in him, but she did. Their parents wished to have Wendy marry the young Haversham, it was the "proper" thing to do.

Both families sat down in their assigned seats. Mr. Haversham was at the head of the table, Mrs. Haversham at his foot. By him was Mrs. Darling and Mr. Darling. On the other side of the table were Wendy, Beauregard, and John. John thumped into his seat and stared at the elaborate table settings and the petite songbird, deceased and stuffed perched on a slender bit of flora and wood, the multicolored feathers combed neatly, glistening in the lamplight.

The servants filed in and started pouring water and wine and placing freshly glistening snails in front of every member of the family. John struggled through what seemed like endless courses until the time had come for his favorite course of all: dessert. Elaborate silver bowls with a small helping of vanilla ice cream was placed before each person sitting at the table. Mr. Haversham spoke, "Have you heard that Queen Victoria has passed?" Mr. Darling answered with, "Yes. Quite the tragedy, 'long live the Queen' and all that." John zoned out again while the dull conversation droned on for what seemed like forever until someone called his name. "John!" Mrs. Darling called to him, firmly but softly, "We are taking tea in the drawing room, dear. Come join us." Then more quietly she said, "And please try to join in on the conversation. You're being incredibly ill mannered."

The two families walked to the drawing room, where tea was being served. The tea matched the tone of the rest of the meal, dull and without flavor. The conversation turned to Wendy and Beauregard. How well matched they thought the two of them were, and brief mentions of the coming out season that was upon them. Wendy and Beauregard glanced longingly at each other. John could only sit there silently and helplessly. Missing the Wendy he knew and grew up with. Where was that girl? That girl who used to tell them stories of Neverland and … Pirates. _No don't go there_, John thought, _not now_.

After what seemed like an eternity of dull, dry conversation, the butler brought in a shining silver platter of croissants and along with it, a matching tea pot and small tea cups and spoons. John noted with a defeated sigh that there was no sugar or any form of sweetener to be seen. As the platter got closer, John smelled something familiar… blueberry jam. Michael had always loved blueberry jam. He fought to hold back the tears as everyone in the drawing room spread the delicious sticky substance onto their pastries. He became so overcome with emotion that, without realizing, he rose up with grief suddenly, knocking over the butler by the pelvis and spilling the brimming pot of hot tea directly onto the youngest Haversham. Beauregard stood, his stiff demeanor intact despite the steaming liquid pouring off him and a quiet grimace of pain, as Beauregard tried and failed to hold back a single tear leaking from his eyes. Shortly after noticing this, John flew toward the door and gathered up his bicycle, cheeks burning with embarrassment, and eyes burning with tears, he peddled furiously for home.

The Havershams and Darlings sat in shocked silence. Beauregard strode for the door, regaining his dignity as best he could, limping to privacy like a wounded animal.

Wendy leapt after him, grabbing his coattails. "Beauregard, please no! I'm so so-" Beauregard shook her off and Wendy toppled over like a sapling succumbing to the powerful winds of an Autumn storm. "Is your family always like this?" he murmured coolly despite the burn still spreading across his body. He left the room to tend to his injuries, leaving Wendy sprawled on the dining room floor.

Mrs. Darling smiled apologetically at the remaining Havershams, as she said, "I'm ever so sorry. Since the incident, John simply has not been the same." She stopped when she noticed Mr. Darling glared sharply at her, violently clearing his throat in her direction. "Wendy, dear. That's no way to act." Mrs. Darling gently scolded. Wendy scrambled to her feet. The Havershams suggested that the dinner was postponed for another day and the Darlings all headed home.

Back in the nursery, John wept, curled in a ball around Michael's teddy bear. His mind swam, trapped in a whirlpool of self-loathing, disgust, and guilt. The door flew open, illuminating John's huddled figure. Wendy strode in with a calmness contradicting her intensity. She approached and time slowed as her satin begloved hand flew toward his face. Her fingers hit his jaw with a sharp thwack and his head jerked back, flung by the force of the blow into space. She had never struck him before!

"How could you? I suppose you enjoy seeing me suffer! I looked like an utter fool in front of the man I've dreamt of marrying for so long! An utter fool!" This was enough to shake John out of his stunned stupor, "It's not like that! I just… I was just... I forgot where I was when I saw the blueberry jam. It was Michael's favor-" Wendy interjected "This is _not_ about Michael! Do you realize what you've done? I miss him too, John. But you can't let his death cripple you so. You didn't speak one word during dinner. You looked like an utter simpleton!" John spoke again, "You don't miss him the way I do. You weren't there to pull him out of that reef. A pirate didn't rip him from your arms. You have no idea how this has affected me." Wendy was now shaking with anger. Her normally composed face screwed into a tiny ball of anger and her clear azure orbs glistened with feeling. "You're right John. It does effect me differently because I wasn't so irresponsible as to take him into such a high and dangerous place. If he had stayed with me, I can assure you that he would've made it home safely. If he had been in my arms, he wouldn't have been ripped out. If I had been holding Michael, he would still be alive."


End file.
